Mating Rituals of the Antagonist clevericus
by Cherusha
Summary: Michael has insecurities. Alex exploits. Michael angsts. Slash. Humor.


**Mating Rituals of the Antagonist **_**clevericus**_

* * *

The first time Michael knew something was amiss in the balance of the universe was when Alex came around to his cell and wanted, as he oh-so-casually put it, "just to hang."

_Let me find a rope first_, thought Michael, not believing a word of it. He had just been indulging in some quality brooding time when in the man strutted in, an almost sheepish grin on his face. The better to hide the wolf - the darkness - within, Michael added silently to himself. Brood sessions always made him want to break out the teen angst poetry.

"Knock Knock," said Nemesis du Jour.

Michael congratulated himself on not responding via the classic "who's there" as the child within so wanted him to. At times like these it was best to ignore. He'd just relaxed long enough to swallow his terrified-as-hell heart, which had been lodged quite firmly in his throat, back down to his chest... when in stormed this same attacker. One minute he's Prince Valium, the next minute he's Wolverine on speed. And that was the problem, wasn't it? The man never acted like you expected him to, not like Bellick who played the inept pain-in-the-ass role to a tee, nor T-Bag who was some form of snake demon for sure. Michael had already met Calculating-Authoritative-FBI!Mahone, Crazy-Desperate-Killer!Mahone, Calm-Cold-And-Deadly!Mahone, Out-Of-His-Mind-With-Withdrawal!Mahone, and recently had shaken hands with Strung-Out-And-Threatening!Mahone. He wondered about this particular breed before him. Smiling-Fit-To-Kill!Mahone had a nice ring to it.

"You know, I can almost hear those wheels turning in your head," said SFTK!Mahone.

"You'll excuse me if I'm a little on my guard," said Michael, _not_ sulkily at all.

"Oh, you're still not on about that, are you?"

"Unbelievably, it's still very much at the forefront of my mind."

"Michael, are you saying you're having trouble forgetting about me?"

If Michael was the sort, he would have 'hrmphed' at this very moment. As it was, he coupled the glare of blue steel with a blast of the silent treatment. Alex had something up his sleeve, that was for sure. He just needed to figure out what it was and then getting rid of him would be easy. It was times like these that he wished he had taken Psych 101 back in college instead of scoffing at it along with the other Engineering geeks. Through the valiant effort of stubbornly ignoring Alex, Michael had turned his back to the other man and was staring straight ahead out the window. Hmmm, brown. The view was... not really anything to write home about. Anyway he didn't even have a home.

Great, he thought. One more thing to brood about.

He was just about to sink back into the black pit of despair (like sinking back into a warm, familiar bath) when he heard the creak of springs behind him. Swinging around, he found that Alex had taken the time to spread-eagle himself in _his_ bed and was currently fluffing _his_ pillow like he owned it.

"The hell? Don't you have better things to do?"

Alex chuckled as Michael cringed. "I haven't slept in 24 hours," he said. "I could use the rest."

"So sleep in your bed!"

"Can't. Some smart aleck decided to take a piss in it and I couldn't find a spare blanket anywhere."

"So what you're really trying to say is you still piss in your bed?"

"Never in my own," said Alex. He shook his head and wagged his finger, as if to a small child. "Seriously though, maybe I should stay around and guard you at night. Make sure you get a good night's sleep."

"I'm not five."

"Haven't you noticed that people have been trying to kill you?"

The incomprehensibility of that statement coming out of _that_ mouth would have been enough to make a lesser man's head explode. Michael was more zen than that, however. "I-- that-- no one is trying to kill me at the moment!"

He took a deep breath. "PRESENT company excluded!"

Alex waved a hand dismissively. "All in the past."

"You're insane."

"And you're funny, Mikey. Now if you don't mind..." He pointed at the door.

Only his winning self-control kept Michael from pummeling the smirky shit into a pulp. Or at least trying to. He wondered when he'd started playing host to such dark thoughts and imagined it had begun around the time Alex strolled into his cell. Michael wasn't fooled. Mahone's plan, of course, was to slowly drive him insane. Well he was going to put his foot down right now.

"I'm not leaving. This is my cell, so if you want to crash in my bed, you'll just have to live with that hard fact."

"Hey, then maybe we could have a sleepover and braid each other's hair--" Alex stopped. "Oh, oops."

"This," said Michael pointedly, "is my individuality statement."

"So what's the tattoo, then? Besides the obvious."

One of the pivotal complications to shaved heads was that in times of great need, one found not a single strand available to pull. Michael felt very strongly that the current level of frustration could only be adequately expressed through hair pulling.

"Hn," he challenged instead. "I don't think you should be one to talk. Forehead Man."

"Oh snap! Did you think up that comeback all by yourself?"

That was it. The final piece of evidence. No sane man would ever say the words "oh snap" and think to get away with it. Alex was smiling at him in a distinctly offensive manner that welcomed face punching. Those drugs must have really fried his brain, he thought. He imagined having to sit the man down and lecture him on the permanent damages hard drugs can do on a person, not to mention the drastic lowering of one's inhibitions, the dance with depression, the dangers of overdose... Wait. Michael shook himself out of it. What was he, the man's guidance counselor now?

"You were strung out that time," he said slowly, turning possibilities, motives, incentives and whatnot around inside his already crowded head.

"And you were an asshole," Alex countered.

Not a fair point in the least! "Can we be reminded again that you were the one who threatened to kill me?"

"Michael, if I threatened to kill you, you'd be dead by now."

"So what was that, then? A joke?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Some joke!"

A funny look passed over Alex. "Is that all you think?"

Michael crossed his arms, chin leveled upwards in defiance. He was not backing down, no way.

Alex flashed a set of even white teeth. Then he rose, slowly and steadily from the bed. From humored joker he was suddenly all smoothness and calmness and predatory hold. Michael felt himself taking an involuntary step back as the other man walked two swift paces to close the distance between them. Laying a heavy hand on each shoulder, Alex leaned forward.

And Michael shivered despite himself, feeling a breath of hot air ghost past his ear. His cheeks reddened instantly and he hated himself for it. And even as his mind screamed at him to play the coward for once and run away from this danger, his legs disobeyed him and chose this exact moment to turn into stiff wooden planks. A soft chuckle in his ear had him frozen to the spot, with no more energy than required to flutter an eyelash.

Alex sighed and moved closer still, just barely touching his lips against the pliant, fleshy lobe. There was a caress, a flick, and then he whispered: "I need."

Michael swallowed.

"I need," he continued in that same breathy, arousing voice, "for you to get your act together..."

He trailed lazy fingers gently up Michael's neck. "I need for you to bring yourself under control..."

"because..."

-a grazing of teeth--

"you're attracting attention. Michael."

More laughter.

"Michael?"

With a jolt, Michael realized he had closed his eyes some time during the duration of the k-- those events.

Alex smiled slyly and stepped back. "See you around, kid."

* * *

ADDENDUM:

That night, (after several hours of imagining Bellick in his underwear) Michael fell asleep. He dreamt that he was back in the train's bathroom with Sara, holding her tight, kissing her softly. But when he broke away to look at her, a pair of soft brown eyes turned into cold blue and she turned into Alex Mahone and bit his head off.

He woke up with a hard-on.

He didn't even want to think about what Freud had to say about that matter.

-END-

* * *

Michael's teen angst poetry about Alex Mahone:

He had eyes as blue as the sky,  
but a soul as pitch black as the night.  
Devil with thy gold'd hair  
did snap-eth thy neck of thy bear.  
Into the doom of the opiate didst he solace  
A villainous past and  
insanity  
his last

respite.


End file.
